In the morning her mood brightened, aided by the glow of sunshine flooding her bedchamber. She and Meg took extra time with her toilette, and she wore a new morning dress that Mrs. Gainsworth had delivered the previous day.
Dot knew it was becoming on her. She had come to learn from his reactions what Forrester admired. She was oddly pleased that his favorite dresses were those that displayed her ample bosom. He also showed a preference for dresses either of white or white background. She supposed the white accentuated her teeth, which she was gratified to admit were uncommonly white. Or did they just seem so because her complexion was darker than what was acceptable for upper class ladies?
Today’s dress was another exceedingly thin sprigged muslin of pink roses on white. She had learned that the thinner the muslin, the heftier its price.
Meg had procured rouge which she sparingly patted on Dot’s cheeks to make them appear pink. The result could not have been more natural looking. For the first time in memory, Dot was possessed of pink cheeks.
Once Lord Appleton was announced, she sucked in her breath, left her bedchamber, and descended the stairs to join her father and him in the drawing room. She arrived just in time to hear her father offer him a glass of brandy, which Forrester politely declined.
“Papa! Lord Appleton is sure to think you a sot! One does not drink brandy at ten in the morning!” A quick glance confirmed that her father was, indeed, drinking brandy.
Mr. Pankhurst sighed. “It helps to blunt the pain of my many infirmities.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Taking the baths would be much preferred. Will you go today?”
“If it’s what my daughter desires.”
“That’s what your daughter desires.” She then turned to Forrester, who had stood when she entered the chamber.
“You look lovely this morning,” said he.
“Thank you.” She thought he would then sit back down, but he did not.
“I had hoped, especially since it’s such a fine day, that you and I could go for a walk.”
Her heartbeat pounded. She knew he would bring up the embarrassing topic which had so troubled her the previous day. But she also knew they had to discuss it.
Last night she had decided she might have to break their betrothal, though she wanted to marry Forrester more than she’d ever wanted anything. This walk with him could prove to be the most important in her entire three-and-twenty years.
Once they were on the pavement, he offered his arm, and she placed her hand on it, which he quickly covered with his. His lightest touch seemed to open up her body like a flower, creating a molten ache only he could heal.
Her thoughts spun to their last kiss, to the heat of his body pressed against hers, his mouth hot and wet and demanding, and all rational thought fled her need-fogged brain.
She was only vaguely aware of the passing horses and carts and equipages. She would have been incapable of describing a single person they passed as they trod along the busy street.
Finally he spoke. “I pray you slept better last night than I.”
She did not respond. Pride prevented her from admitting her distress.
“My sister informed me that you were upset yesterday.” He pressed her hand. “Nothing could make me more miserable that to think I could ever have hurt you.” He stopped right there on the pavement and looked down at her.
Her heart leapt at the pain on his beloved face, at the dewy melancholy of his mossy eyes. “No woman exists whom I care for more deeply than I care for you, and that’s the honest truth.”
He might not have used the word love, but she knew it was as close as he could come.
And it was enough for her.
She could have sighed with relief. She would not have to break their engagement. “In addition to some of the comments made by your youngest sister,” she began, but faltered when she realized they were blocking passage of others.
He nodded. “Come. We’ll go to Crescent Field.”
A few moments later they were on the massive lawn which swept into the shape of the Royal Crescent above it. They began to plod across it. “As I was saying, in addition to being distressed over some of the comments made by your sister Abby, there’s another matter we must discuss before we can set a wedding date.”
He raised a brow.
“Your mistress.”
“That blasted Abby!”
They stood in the grass as she took both his hands. “My dearest Forrester, I’ve known about your Mrs. P for some time.”
“That blasted Bath Chronicle!”
She nodded.
He bent forward and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of her nose. “That woman is history. As soon as you did me the honor of consenting to become my wife, I broke it off with her.” He drew a breath. “Because you are to be my wife I will speak of something I would not normally discuss.” He drew another breath. “My father kept mistresses. I did not approve. My mother was a wonderful woman, a devoted wife. She deserved my father’s complete fidelity.” He took her hands and kissed them. “I vow to you I will be a faithful husband.”
She could ask for nothing more than the words he’d said to her today.
She had thought to ask him when he’d learned she was considered an heiress, but she didn’t want to hear the truth.
For she already knew it.
* * *
When they returned to her house, Appleton joined her in the library where he helped her on the invitations to Friday night’s salon. “You’ve been so helpful in assisting me with the list of invitees and providing their addresses,” she said. “You don’t have to stay. I can finish them and have them delivered this afternoon.”
“I’ll stay.” Was it a weakness to admit he enjoyed being with her? There was also another matter they must decide.
It had already been more than two weeks since
